  after stretching a little cardio and some situps into a 75-minute workout. I sat on the far side of the fountain hoping Bruno would not see me on his way out (What's he doing down here anyway?
He said the other day that a Bally's had opened up near him on Fordham Road in the Bronx! ), and hoping further that the good-looking man with the salt-and-pepper hair (not the one from last week, another one) sitting 4 tables away will look up, recognize my face from the gym, and give me a little smile. (Better luck next time, Cynthia. ) All this makes me wonder if I am at once both reverting to teenage boy-craziness, and stepping outside this reverted self to let the 46-year-old woman intellectualize about, experiement with, and report back to herself on such boy-craziness. Complicated? Well, yes; insanity usually is. 
